Her father, King Ruairí didn’t seem to hear Aisling at all.
He only seemed annoyed to be bothered.
He barely lifted his eyelids and waved a hand through the air.
“Who’s this child?
Don’t wake me from my nap.”
Then he shut his eyes again.
Aisling didn’t mind his pretending.
She took another step closer and looked at his face.
He had fair skin and good features.
Aisling had inherited his eyes and brows, six or seven parts in ten, along with the same calm, refined look.
His loose robe and thin frame gave him the air of a poor poet, sad but somehow charming.
He drank and slept all day, yet dark shadows lay beneath his eyes, and between his brows was a faint crease that only someone looking closely would notice.
Aisling had started this, and she wasn’t leaving with nothing.
“Father, when you sent me to Ardmore all those years ago, it was because that was the only way to keep me alive, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe you hoped she’d stay there forever and never come back to Dunmore.
But heaven didn’t listen.
The king is more suspicious than you thought.
Even though she’s only a daughter, he couldn’t rest while she lived with the Delaneys.
That’s why Sibéal kept writing, urging her home.”
“And you, acting clueless and beaten, managed to calm his fears a little.
That’s why you never dared to show any closeness, even to her.”
“If you know all that, why did you come back?”
Father suddenly rolled over on the floor, kicking a wine jug into the leg of the oak table.
It struck with a dull crack, loud as thunder in the silent room.
He finally opened his eyes, the eyes he’d kept shut for ten years.
They were still clouded, but the look in them was so fierce that Aisling could hardly meet it.
It felt as though there were a pit behind them, like the hell the monks at the abbey spoke of, where evil spirits were locked away.
Aisling froze for a moment when she met that stare.
But she didn’t back away.
She stared right back.
A thin line of light slipped through a gap in the window and fell between them, illuminating both their faces.
One stood while the other sat.
Father and daughter, silent for ten years, were finally looking each other in the eye.
Neither spoke.
They should have been as close as two people could be.
After ten years, all that remained between them was distance.
She hadn’t meant to be so sharp, but she’d sliced straight through every pretense he had.
She didn’t know what to say next.
She stopped, gathered her thoughts, and pressed her lips together.
She didn’t care about the wine stains.
Lifting her skirt, she knelt down and sat facing him, eye to eye.
“Because she doesn’t want the Delaneys to suffer any more because of her,” Aisling said slowly.
“Her grandparents pitied how weak she was and treated her like a treasure.
When she was sick, they nursed her without even changing their clothes.
She couldn’t stand Ardmore’s climate, so they rebuilt her courtyard, brought in southern food, found the best doctors…
there’s too much to list.
They spent ten years caring for her with all their hearts.
She can never repay them, but she won’t let them suffer because of her.
And the king already fears Ardmore’s army.
If her grandfather openly defied him for her sake, she’s afraid he’d use it as an excuse to move against them.
As for her, all he worried about was her marrying her Delaney cousin.
As long as she came back to the capital, he wouldn’t touch her.”
“Actually, she’d already made a deal with Eoghan Butler to have a fake marriage.
She just never expected…”
“You never expected Ronan to set his eyes on you!”
Father’s voice carried anger.
He regretted the tone the moment the words left his mouth.
It wasn’t meant for Aisling, only for Ronan.
But they were strangers to each other, and he didn’t know how to act around a daughter he hadn’t truly spoken to in ten years.
He peeked at her face, saw that she wasn’t upset, and allowed himself to relax.
Aisling took a deep breath and nodded helplessly.
“She truly doesn’t know why he picked her.
If she’d known, she’d have stayed far away from him.”
Father thought about what he’d heard.
At the banquet, Sibéal and Lady Neala had teamed up with Declan Riordan and deliberately arranged everything so Aisling would be there for Ronan to see.
Was it really only that one meeting?
Something flashed in his eyes.
Then he looked at Aisling properly, and it struck him that she had grown into a beautiful young woman.
Before, all he’d noticed was that her face looked more like her mother’s with every passing year.
Seeing her only reminded him of Sorcha and the grief of losing her, and he’d never allowed himself to look beyond that.
Now, watching the light fall across Aisling’s face, catching her delicate brows and eyes, her skin smooth and pale as polished ivory, even the fine hairs on her cheek glowing faintly, he finally saw her.
She looked bright and noble, yet there was a rare mixture of strength and loneliness in her eyes.
He vaguely understood why Ronan had chosen his daughter.
It did nothing to cool his anger.
He hated Ronan, and he hated Sibéal and Neala just as much.
If it weren’t for them, Ronan would never have laid eyes on her.
He remained furious for a long time.
Slowly, his thoughts returned to Aisling, and he felt proud of what she’d just said.
She was a daughter who had been kept far from the court, yet she understood the situation with remarkable clarity.
She knew the king’s nature, had found a way out, and had even begun putting it into motion.
She truly surpassed most men.
But there was a problem.
“How did you know I’ve been pretending all these years?”
Father had always been proud of how careful he was.
Sometimes, he was so convincing that he even fooled himself.
Apart from a few trusted friends, no one had ever seen through him.
He had never imagined that his daughter, who had seen him only a handful of times, would see through him so easily.
“Well, you see…”
Aisling drew out the words, tilting her head.
“I was only bluffing!”
“What?”
Father’s eyes widened.
Aisling laughed.
“I was teasing you.”
Then her expression turned serious.
“It’s because she believes her grandfather wouldn’t have sent his own ten year old daughter to Dunmore just to protect a man who was weak or easily broken.
If you’d truly been crushed, the man on the throne wouldn’t have feared you all these years.”
Father was shaken.
A feeling he couldn’t put a name to rose inside him.
It was like walking alone in the dark for ten years and suddenly having a hand reach out to guide him.
What Aisling didn’t tell him was that she’d once read something in a history from the future.
King Ruairí of Devlin never led an army and never took part in politics.
He barely stood out during that turbulent age.
Only because of his royal blood had a historian given him a short biography, and most of what was known about him had been lost in the chaos that followed.
Only one line had survived.
Aisling hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time.
She’d skimmed right past it.
But she remembered that one sentence:
King Ruairí of Devlin burned to death along with the king.